Tangled Braids

  twin   plaits down my freckled back shining in         suburban sunlight. my  mother’s hands     made   quick work of the rebellious       slips, billowing  out of the curlicues    like the maple leaves in the front yard.
though temporarily restrained in   pigtails and braids,    cordage   to keep me contained,    it never lasted   past         recess.
no, my hair flowed down the trees, always just too tall to reach  the  top.
no, my hair swung in circles while I proved proficiency on monkey  bars.
no, I won’t play house. no, I won’t come down.

no I won’t keep my hair, my hands, my heart constrained because I am the wild child. I am the junior high bad influence. I am the first of your friends to start smoking. I am the girlfriend your mother hates. I am your terrible roommate. I am the first to die in your graduating class. And no no no
I won’t wear my hair in braids.